


Delicate

by amscray_punk



Series: Four Sundays [3]
Category: Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2020-07-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:53:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25557655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amscray_punk/pseuds/amscray_punk
Summary: Spot and Race realize they're in love.*I know, that's a lame summary. But really, this is just 8.6k words of tooth-rotting fluff. Like, that's it.**Rating for mild language and passing references to sexual activity. But seriously. Marshmallow fluff. You've been warned.
Relationships: Spot Conlon/Racetrack Higgins
Series: Four Sundays [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1838668
Comments: 12
Kudos: 57





	1. Oh Damn, Never Seen That Color Blue

**Author's Note:**

> This happened for a couple reasons: I wanted them to do couple-y things in fall, and I wanted to know what it would be like when they both said "I love you" for the first time. And they're just really cute. So here it is. Also, you never realize how much you say the word "spot" until it's one of the character's names. Hmm. Enjoy!
> 
> Oh, also, I think the timeline could be confusing so just for clarification: Four Sundays/Sweet Understanding take place in May/June-ish, and this (except for Race’s flashback in chapter two) takes place in October of the same year. Steam takes place the following spring. You can tell I wrote these out of order 😅

Spot couldn’t pinpoint the moment he fell in love with Racetrack Higgins.

But he could remember exactly where he was when he realized it, when the words almost tumbled out before he’d even understood that they were true. They’d slept in, a rare Saturday morning off, the day after Racer had finally fulfilled his promise to take Spot to a live performance of _The Rocky Horror Picture Show._ It was a few weeks into October, and the spooky setting was perfect for the one-of-a-kind show. Race had prepared him as best he could, with repeated viewings of the movie version and detailed demonstrations of how to do the Time Warp. And yet, Spot still found himself surprised (and a little bewildered, if he were honest) by the absolute madness that seemed to always happen during a live performance. He’d found himself watching Racer more often than the actual show, thanking his lucky stars that this whirlwind of a human had landed in his ER, those months ago.

That morning, as he blearily blinked his way to consciousness, he felt the now familiar affectionate rush that accompanied waking up with Race snuggled into him, his back against Spot’s bare chest. He pressed soft kisses just under Race’s hairline, making his way to that sensitive spot behind his ear; smirked when Race began to stir, instinctually pressing back into him.

“G’morning,” Spot murmured, nuzzling into those unruly curls that, absent the bleaching effects of a summer sun, trended more toward a dirty blonde.

“Mmm, certainly can be if ya keep that up,” Racer replied teasingly, rolling in Spot’s arms to face him.

Spot hummed in response, lifting a hand to swipe a lock of hair from Racer’s eyes; it was getting long, a result of his ridiculously busy senior schedule. Spot didn’t mind, though – in fact, he preferred Race’s hair like this. It made it all the more adorable when Race would idly twirl it as he studied; all the easier for Spot to weave his fingers into. Race brushed his knuckles along Spot’s jaw, the stubble there a bit longer than he typically allowed it to get. He hadn’t been home in a couple of days, and he didn’t yet keep a razor at Race’s apartment. Generally, he preferred the clean shaven look; Finn was the mountain man in the Conlon family.

“You know what I want for my birthday?” Race asked, suddenly.

“A little early for that, isn’t it?” Race’s birthday wasn’t for another week, closer to Halloween.

Race made an affronted noise. “’Scuse me, is it October?”

“It is.”

“Then I can talk about my birthday,” Spot rolled his eyes. Race stole a kiss; Spot could feel him smiling before he pulled back to blink up at him through those long lashes. “Can you… not shave today?”

Spot’s eyebrows raised in surprise. “Really? You like this?” He gestured vaguely toward his face.

“Mmph, yes,” Race’s response was enthusiastic, genuine as his lip caught in his teeth. Spot held back a growl; Racer knew damn well what that lip bite did to him. “It’s _very_ hot. You look like a fuckin’ Calvin Klein model.”

Spot rolled his eyes again, purposely withholding the answer Racer _had_ to know was yes. Wait, was it yes? If Race wanted something, Spot could almost never find a good reason to deny him. He mulled it over, surprised to find he didn’t really _want_ to say no. Suddenly, Racer smiled at him, and _God, those dimples_ , those bright, mischievous blue eyes shone in the late morning sun and it was all Spot could do not to blurt it out right then. _I love you._ He’d literally bitten his tongue to keep it from slipping out, instead capturing Racer’s lips to distract him. _Distract who?_ Race responded eagerly, and it took them another hour to get out of bed.

Racer, who was now an official part-time employee at the dance studio, had to close up that evening to repay the favor to his friend who’d gotten them the _Little Shop_ tickets. He’d be there late, so Spot let Race know he’d swing by to pick him up when he was done. He went to the gym from there, then headed home to clean up and change – and maybe not shave. As he showered, he thought back to that morning, that moment when he’d almost said it. Even there, away from Racer’s intoxicating presence, he was pretty sure that it was true. If he did love Race, as frightening a thought as that was for a still fairly new relationship, it was news to him. When had that happened?

It had happened quickly, of that he was sure. One day, Racer was just a fantasy, a longshot _what if_ possibility, a timeline in an alternate universe where Spot actually had the nerve to ask him out. The next, they were attached at the hip at every spare moment, kept apart only by commitments like school and work. Spot had soon realized the part of his day he looked forward to the most was going home, whether to his apartment or Racer’s, because they spent most nights together, as long as Spot wasn’t working terribly late.

Sometimes they went out; Racer loved to go to night clubs and dance, the appeal of which Spot wasn’t sure he’d ever fully understand. Sometimes they went to see plays and musicals, which Spot mostly enjoyed. Even if he found he didn’t particularly care for the show itself, he was never bored, never felt like he was wasting his time because he was spending it with, truly, the kindest, goofiest person he’d ever had the privilege to be around. The partying lifestyle that went along with college was something Spot had been glad to leave behind, years before. And Race, wild child though he was, was too dedicated to his dream, too determined to let something as stupid as alcohol get in his way. So for the most part, they stayed in. They watched movies when they had time, curling up either in Race’s room or on the couch. Occasionally, Katherine and Jack would join them and Spot would take a moment to appreciate how seamlessly Race’s little group of friends had accepted him, welcomed him into their circle. Jack’s playful, offhand nature contrasted so interestingly with Katherine’s fierce intelligence and special brand of silliness, and the combination of the four of them made for some entertaining commentary.

Sometimes Spot would sit up in Racer’s bed, reading a book while Race worked on homework or mapped out choreography for a piece. Race was a very affectionate person, so even when he was absorbed in his work, he found ways to be touching Spot; tangling their legs together on the bed or running his fingertips along the muscles of Spot’s arms, along his stomach as he worked. Other times, they would take walks through the park, sharing earbuds as they listened to music or a podcast, hands always laced together. Sometimes, when they stayed at his apartment, Spot would wake in the wee hours of the morning, confused to find them entwined on the couch, the TV dark and textbooks forgotten on the floor. Only Race’s comforting warmth could make him fall asleep anywhere besides his bed. He had a pretty regular nighttime routine, but Race could pass out just about anywhere. Spot wasn’t sure if it was the physical exertion that came with abundant energy, the mental exhaustion from studying full-time or the creative effort required to come up with such stunning routines, but Racer was the heaviest sleeper he’d ever known. Nights like those, he would lift him carefully and carry him to his bedroom, heart warmed when Race would instinctively curl into him.

Spot had been in relationships before, one or two even bordering on serious before they ultimately tapered. But as he looked back on those high school and college boyfriends, the feelings he remembered couldn’t hold a candle to those he harbored for the impulsive, curly-haired dancer. When they first began dating, he was a bit hesitant to outwardly show his affection for Race to anyone but Race. But Race seemed to have no such reservations, seeing as he posted a sweet selfie of the two of them waiting for _Little Shop of Horrors_ to begin just one day after their first date, with a caption that made Spot’s heart melt. He still felt a rush of heat pool in his stomach any time he found himself remembering their first date, and that searing chemistry had yet to fade. No one had ever been able to reduce him to his base desires as quickly as Racer could with a single, loaded look from across a room or a brush of his fingertips on the back of Spot’s neck.

His feelings were evident, he supposed, in the way his kitchen had become stocked with veggie burgers and almond milk to suit Race’s lifestyle (he wasn’t vegan, but he was picky about the dairy products he consumed), the way Spot’s whey protein powder had been replaced by Racer’s favorite plant-based brand. Spot had been shocked to realize just how much protein could be found in a plant-based diet and had quickly switched over his shakes. He still couldn’t get into the veggie burgers, though. It was evident in how they found ways to do the most mundane of activities together, like working out. Spot preferred to stick to weight training, while Race veered more toward yoga and gymnastics to keep his toned, flexible form. Of course, he also loved to run, which he did most mornings. Sometimes Spot would join him, but other times, he couldn’t take the blow to his ego that was trying to keep pace with someone named Racetrack. Those days, he’d sleep in if he wasn’t headed to work and get his cardio in later, on the treadmill. By himself.

The water in the shower was lukewarm as Spot considered the idea that he loved Race, and more pieces began to fall into place in his memories. He remembered deciding to take Racer to meet his mother, Maria; a privilege he had only afforded one other boyfriend, and that had kind of been a requirement since he’d been in high school at the time. He should have known it the moment he realized he _wanted_ her to meet him, to know him as more than that pretty, twisty dancer from Instagram. Naturally, Race had charmed her immediately – the container of homemade cookies he’d baked surely hadn’t hurt his chances – and within minutes, he had her (figuratively) eating out of the palm of his hand. He remembered the absolute glee with which Race had pored over the family photo albums, subjecting Spot to the obligatory torture of his childhood photos. He remembered his mother’s amused look when Race’s eyes had snagged on a chewed up dog toy, and he’d turned to Spot.

“Wait, does a dog live here?” Betrayal colored his fair features but he couldn’t hide the excitement in his voice. “Is there a dog here and you didn’t tell me?”

Laughing, Spot’s mother had pointed Race in the direction of the small backyard, where he stayed for the next hour, playing with her corgi, Bernie. He remembered watching Race from the kitchen window, and the knowing look he’d caught on his mother’s face as she watched _him_ made sense, now.

Thinking of that encounter led Spot down another road as he remembered meeting Race’s immediate family, which began with his sister, Georgia, her husband, Andy and their two boys, Ethan and Ryan. He and Race had taken both kids to the zoo with them one afternoon, about a month into dating, giving Georgia a much-needed break. Spot had been on baby duty, in charge of bottles and pushing the stroller, while Race ran around with Ryan, who was nearly as feral as his uncle. Spot remembered feeling a little strange, but not because he felt awkward; no, what was strange was how _normal_ it had felt, strolling through the zoo on a hot summer day with Race, walking the baby while Race entertained the toddler. He was pretty sure he hadn’t been in love with him yet, but the fact that the feeling hadn’t sent him running far away was telling – at least, in hindsight.

He remembered being a little nervous about the state of their relationship shortly after that, because Race seemed – no, he didn’t seem hesitant, he _was_ hesitant to introduce Spot to his parents. Spot tiptoed around the topic for a few days before he finally asked, bluntly, why he was being weird about it. Race had sighed wearily, eyes distant in a way that only made Spot’s stomach twist more, immediately regretting having asked.

“It’s just, Spotty,” Race paused, clearly struggling with the answer. Spot waited, not realizing he was holding his breath. “I don’t… I never want you to feel like I’m rubbing it in. Y’know…” He was looking at the floor now, but he managed to look up through his lashes at Spot before he continued. “My parents are still together, and they’re happy, and I know yours would be too, if…” He trailed off, looking like he was still searching for words, but Spot didn’t need to hear any more.

“Racer, you’re serious?” He’d pulled Race in for a hug then, letting out the breath as his heartrate returned to normal. Race snuggled into him as he always did. He almost seemed to duck down, make himself smaller so he could be enveloped by Spot’s arms; a habit Spot later realized he really appreciated. “What, you think I’d feel better about my dad being gone if you had a tragic family history, too?” He paused, squeezing Race tighter against him. “I don’t want that for you. I’m _so_ glad you still have your mom and dad, and they still have each other, and you have this big family with cousins and nieces and nephews. I want nothing less than the best for you, Tony,” He felt Race suck in a breath at the rare use of his name.

Now that he was thinking about it, he could see it in the smaller things, too. Like how Spot would throw in pieces of Race’s laundry with his own without a second thought. Racer was always moving, mind always going a mile a minute, whether he was focused on schoolwork, choreography, or cooking some incredible meal that always had Spot marveling over the fact that it was meatless (and the mess it made of his kitchen, but he could deal with that). When someone with that degree of ADHD hyperfocuses, other things fall to the wayside, like keeping track of his clothes and belongings. So Spot would wash, dry, and fold them, and he even found himself making room in one of his drawers for all of Race’s forgotten clothes; he supposed that should have been a clue, too.

The water ran cold before he finally switched it off, stepping out and wrapping a towel around his waist. He dried his hair with a towel before wiping a circle into the foggy mirror. He hung up the towel and turned instinctively to gather his shaving supplies. But when his fingers brushed the cold canister of shaving cream, he stopped. Closed his eyes, inhaled sharply through his nose; exhaled slowly through his mouth and opened his eyes to see his reflection. It wasn’t that he didn’t like the scruff. He had to admit, with his dark hair shiny and mussed, it was definitely a look. It had always been the upkeep that had stopped him from doing it. He just figured it was easier to stay clean shaven than it would be to maintain any sort of specific length. After all, he was _pretty_ sure he wasn’t into the long, wild beard look the way his brother was. But for Racer? He ran a hand over his jaw; his heart was pounding as though he were on the edge of a cliff and not the relative comfort of his small bathroom. He thought about that morning, about how he knew exactly one second after Racer asked him if he’d keep it that the answer was yes. How he hadn’t even considered saying no and frankly, _that_ realization was a little terrifying but it was overshadowed by the glaring truth that stared back at him in the mirror. He loved Race. He took a shaky breath in; then, he took a step back, opened the door, and walked out.

He felt like he was on autopilot for the next few minutes as he dressed mechanically and wandered to the kitchen. He felt vaguely hungry, or was that nausea? Spot wasn’t sure. He glanced at the clock on the stove; it was nearly lunchtime. It was the sight of the veggie burgers in the freezer that snapped him out of it. He’d just had a goddamned epiphany and he was trying to figure out what to eat for lunch? No, this was a big deal. His heart was suddenly in his throat, half in fear; what if Race didn’t feel the same way? _It’s okay_ , he reasoned with himself. Even if Race didn’t return his feelings, that didn’t mean he wouldn’t in the future. It was still kind of early in their relationship, although there had hardly been a day since it began that they hadn’t seen each other, even if it was only over FaceTime. It certainly didn’t feel like it had only been a handful of months. He leaned against the counter, brows furrowed in concentration and arms folded over his chest as he thought. He tried hard to listen to the rational part of his brain, the one that was telling him not to panic over the idea that Race might not feel the same way. He couldn’t worry about that, because it was out of his control. What was under his control, however, was what he did with this new information.

He felt an urge to tell someone. Not Race, obviously. No, he would need to plan that, and he wasn’t even sure he was ready to start _that_ step, let alone tell him. In a text? Insane. That’s a Racetrack move, right there. _Wouldn’t that be easy?_ Spot laughed softly, with just a touch of bitterness at the thought. It would be so easy to be the one that gets to say, “I love you too.” But until that moment happened, Spot had to assume it wouldn’t. So when he pulled his phone from his pocket, there were three people he had in mind. And if at least two of them thought it was a good idea, then maybe he’d begin to sort of think about how – and more importantly, when – to tell Racer. He grabbed a turkey burger from the freezer and drafted two texts, which he sent as he finished off his lunch. His stomach lurched a little and he wondered if maybe he should’ve done that _before_ he ate, but he pushed through and dialed the phone.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Mom,”

“Hey baby!” His mother’s voice was warm, as always, and Spot smiled instinctively, his stomach already beginning to settle. “What’s going on?”

“Oh, nothing, really,” Spot stalled. He wasn’t sure why he was nervous. His mother had always accepted him, and she obviously adored Race – _I mean, who wouldn’t?_ – so he forced himself to say the words. “I just have something I wanna tell you.”

A beat. “Okay,” Maria’s voice was carefully controlled, but Spot didn’t miss the hint of fear.

“I think, uh, I’m,” He cleared his throat and stood up from the couch; why, he wasn’t quite sure but it seemed to help because he finally managed to spit it out. “Okay. I’m in love with Race.” It came out in a rush, but it was clear enough. For a second he feared he’d missed her response, because he felt vaguely like a train had gone right past his open window. But a moment later, she spoke.

“Oh, honey,” Now he could hear the smile in her voice, the fear dissolved. “Are you just now figuring that out?”

The laugh that escaped him stunned him a little, knocking him off balance so he sat back down. His phone buzzed four times in quick succession. That’d be Elmer, texting him back. No point in reading them now, since he was sure at least six more would be coming.

“Yeah,” He answered, finally. “Yeah, I guess I am.”

By the time he got off the phone half an hour later, his ear felt as if he’d fallen asleep against the car window. The talk with his mother had been exactly what he’d needed. He’d lost track of how many times his phone had buzzed and he opened his messages. Eleven texts, exactly ten from Elmer and one from Finn. His thumb hovered for a moment as he tried to decide which to open first. He’d said best two out of three, right? He almost felt it was cheating to open Elmer’s first; he was clearly enthusiastic about the subject, and Spot had sort of known he would be. Elmer had been his best friend since middle school, and he’d been as charmed by Race as anyone else. But Finn hadn’t gotten a chance to meet Race, yet. He’d decided to stay in the town where he’d gone to college because he’d found a job as an elementary teacher. Spot decided he wasn’t quite ready to read Finn’s response and he tapped Elmer’s name.

**St. Elmo:**

Oh my god really?

Holy shit

Dude

This is fucking huge!!

Are you gonna tell him?? You gotta tell him

I mean I know it’s kinda early but dude you should see the way he looks at you

And yeah now that you say that I’ve definitely seen the way you look at him wow

Ok soo are you going to text me back or did you die

Look I’m at work but I think you should tell him

You gotta tell him Spot

Spot read the texts three times, _you should see the way he looks at you_ making his stomach flip each time _._ He typed a reply, asking Elmer for ideas as to how to tell him. His mood soaring, he backed out of the conversation and stopped. Moment of truth. He opened his brother’s text message. It was short and concise, much like Finn himself.

**Finn:**

No shit. Why are you telling me? Tell him.

_Holy shit._ Three out of three. He wasn’t much of a betting man, but those were pretty good odds. As if on cue, another text message buzzed through, this one from Race.

**Racer:**

Did you shave?

Spot smirked.

**Spot:**

Wait and see

It was the only card he had to play, really; Racer would find out soon enough that he’d won. Chuckling at the exasperated string of emojis Race sent back, he clicked back through to the new slew of texts from Elmer, and started to plan.


	2. Is It Cool That I Said All That?

Race fell hard for Spot Conlon.

He discovered it in the same way he discovered everything: all at once. He clearly remembered the moment he’d realized it. He and Jack had been hanging out one evening while Spot was working a night shift. They were watching a movie in the living room, eating Chinese food out of takeout containers. Race had been dating Spot for a couple of months and he couldn’t ever remember feeling happier. The scene in the movie was tense; Jack couldn’t tear his eyes from the screen. But a quiet buzzing distracted Race immediately and he picked up his phone and unlocked it, happy to see a text from his boyfriend. _Boyfriend._ The word still felt a little foreign but he loved to say it – or even think it – whenever he got the chance. He didn’t even realize he was grinning like an idiot until he was pelted in the temple with a fortune cookie.

“Ow,” He remarked, though it didn’t hurt. He didn’t look up from his phone as he picked the cookie up and tossed it back in Jack’s general direction. He dodged it easily, throwing his hands up in exasperation.

“C’mon, you’re missing the best part!”

“Just a sec,” He finished typing his reply and looked back up. He’d missed the scene but frankly, he was having a hard time concentrating. Spot had been shamelessly flirting with him through text for the last couple of hours and it was wildly distracting. He guessed it had to do with the fact that Spot knew they wouldn’t see each other tonight, so he was being a little more overt than usual. Race had half a mind to “go to bed” and up the ante with a carefully posed picture or two, but Jack’s loud voice wiped the idea from his brain before it had a chance to fully form.

“What’s so important you can’t look away, huh?”

Race hummed in response, stalling. He was grateful for the low light as he felt his cheeks burn; although, he supposed it didn’t much matter. Jack was the one who’d had a front row seat to their relationship from the very beginning, and Race didn’t feel like he had to hold back around him. Is that what he was doing? Holding back? He’d only just begun to follow that tangent of a thought when-

“Oh, of course,” Jack was playful now, teasing as he paused the movie. “Hot Nurse Sean.”

“You can just call him Spot,” Race muttered, rolling his eyes exaggeratedly.

“And where is _Spot_ tonight, eh?”

“Working,” Race sighed the word, glancing back down at his phone in case Spot’d had a chance to text him again. He hadn’t.

“Oof, Racer,”

Race looked up; that wasn’t a tone he was entirely familiar with. “What?”

Jack was shaking his head, eyes unreadable. “You got it bad.”

Wheels in the back of Race’s brain began to turn; why did that sound so familiar? He’d just begun to puzzle it out when his mind snapped back like a rubber band.

“Wait, wh-“

“It’s an Usher song,” He answered Race’s unasked question almost automatically. “Y’know, I was sorta kidding when I asked you if he was ‘the one’ but maybe I was on to something.”

_Oh yeah, I remember that song!_ And now it was stuck in his head. Great. Race suddenly realized he was staring at Jack, mouth slightly open as he tried to redirect his thought process. _Fuck. ADHD is a bitch._ He sucked in a breath, about to speak when Jack threw his head back, letting out a dramatic sigh.

“Jesus, Racer, do I need to walk ya through this?”

“Please, my brain is broken.”

“Fine,” Jack huffed, irritably turning off the movie; Race was sure he’d have to endure it some other time but right now, there was no way he was getting through it. “Alright, look. You two’ve been dating what, a couple of months now?” Race nodded. “And how often do you see him?”

“Pretty much every day.”

“Pretty much every day,” Jack repeated, slowly. “And what about days that you don’t see him?”  
  
  


“What do you mean?”

“Do you text, does he call, what?”

Race shrugged a shoulder; he felt his phone buzz and it took nearly all of his restraint not to look at it. “All of the above. FaceTime, when we get a chance.”

“Uh huh. And how do you feel when you don’t get to see him? When you don’t even get to FaceTime.”

“Well…” Race trailed off. He hadn’t even considered that idea, because frankly, there were so few days like that, he’d hardly had to deal with it. But the sudden tightness in his chest told him he was on the precipice of something, and Jack was going to drag him over it. “I dunno. Shitty, I guess.”

“Mmhmm.” Jack stroked his chin in a pantomime, staying quiet for a moment. When he spoke again, his voice was softer, the teasing faded out almost entirely. “What’s your favorite thing about him?”

Oh, wow. Race hadn’t been prepared for that question. Or, maybe he had, because it took him about thirty seconds to respond.

“I guess… I guess it’s his steadiness.”

“His steadiness?” Jack arched an eyebrow; clearly that wasn’t been the answer he was expecting.

“Yeah,” Race went on, still fighting the urge to reply to Spot. He knew it would be rude, with Jack suddenly so invested in the conversation. “He’s so consistent. So solid. And I don’t mean his muscles… although I don’t _not_ mean his muscles-“

“Yeah yeah, keep going, Romeo,”

Race laughed quietly, pulling his lip between his teeth for a moment before he continued. “No, I mean… He’s so levelheaded. He’s known since he was a teenager what he wants out of life, and he buckled down to make sure he got it. He still does, every day. He doesn’t ever let silly things distract him-“

“Except you,” Jack interjected, eyes sparkling.

“Except me,” Race agreed, toying absently with the hem of his shirt. “He thinks everything through. He considers all possibilities, all sides of a situation before he decides what to do, and I really admire that. I wish I could do that.”

Jack stayed quiet, letting Race talk himself through it.

“And… I dunno, he makes me feel really safe. I don’t mean like, that he would beat up a mugger or somethin’ – although, yeah, he probably would – but I mean it does something to me when he comes around. Whenever he gets here or he picks me up from somewhere, just being near him makes me… calmer. Sorta. As calm as I can be, anyway.” Race’s tone was a little self-deprecating, now. “He kinda quiets the buzzing in my brain, y’know?”

“I do,” Jack’s smile was soft, knowing. It was starting to piss Race off, a little. He huffed.

“What’s this about, Jack?”

“Don’t ya get it?”

“What?”

“Ugh, Racer!” Jack groaned, exasperated as he ran his hands over his face. “I can’t _believe_ I have to be the one to tell you this. You love him, you numbskull!”

“I- _what_?” Race’s jaw hung open as he considered that. He started to argue. “But wait… shit…” _But what?_ Race couldn’t find anything to say. He fell back against the couch cushions, dumbfounded. He loved Spot. The second the thought was complete in his mind, he knew it was real; the truth of it reverberated in his skull. Race had had a handful of boyfriends throughout high school and college, and he’d even dropped the L word with a few of them. But as he absorbed this new information, he realized he’d never loved any of them, because no one had ever made him feel the way Spot did. He’d dumped most of them without a second thought, and even the few who’d broken up with him hadn’t kept him up at night, afterwards. Just the thought of breaking up with Spot, of not seeing his face the next day and the next, made his heart twist in his chest. He ran a hand through his hair, eyes fixed on the table but not really seeing it. He’d nearly forgotten Jack was in the room until he suddenly stood and started in the direction of the stairs. “Hey, where ya goin’?” Race asked, a little grateful for the interruption.

“Bed,” Jack answered, stretching. “S’late, and I have class in the morning. Besides, you’ve got some… thinking to do, I think. Plus you can finally text Spot back,” He added, grinning devilishly. “I know ya been waitin’ for me to leave.” He ruffled Race’s hair playfully, ignoring the indignant noise Race made in response. “G’night, Racer.”

“Night,” he grumbled, slouching down into the couch again. Race sat with his discovery for a moment. _I love him._ He was surprised to find that the thought didn’t send him into a panic; no, instead, he felt a giddy laugh, short and sweet, tear its way out before he could stop it. Smiling to himself, he opened the ignored text. His phone slipped right out of his hands when his eyes landed on the nearly indecent image on the screen and he was suddenly having trouble remembering what had just happened. Thoroughly distracted from his crisis, he’d turned off the lights and fairly bolted to his bedroom to finish his conversation in private. Later, when he laid in bed trying to sleep, he reasoned with himself. It was too soon to tell Spot how he felt, so he’d have to keep it to himself, at least for a while. So he did.

Until he didn’t.

When Race woke up on the morning of his birthday, he was brimming with excitement. He didn’t particularly care about turning twenty-two, but he _did_ care about finally finding out what Spot had planned. He’d told him the week before to make sure the day of his actual birthday was cleared of commitments, so they’d had dinner with Race’s parents the night before. Georgia joined them, her husband home with the kids so she could get out of the house for a while. They’d gone home to Race’s apartment afterwards, which was empty. Jack had been spending the night with Katherine a lot more often, these days.

He glanced over his shoulder after he woke, smiling softly when he found Spot still asleep. Race wasn’t sure he’d ever get over how adorable he looked when he slept. He glanced at his watch; only eight. Spot hadn’t given him any clue as to what they were doing that day, but he knew it was supposed to begin around ten. He chewed on his lip, considering. On the one hand, he could slip out of bed, go for a run and take a shower before Spot woke up. On the other, he could slide down under the covers and wake Spot up a _different_ way, all but ensuring he wouldn’t have time for a run but, he reasoned, he would have a shower companion. The choice was easy.

A little over an hour later, Spot came out of the bathroom, towel wrapped around his hips as he joined Race in his bedroom, where he was starting to get dressed. Forcing his eyes away from the tantalizing sight – seriously, they’d _just_ stepped out of the shower and Race was tempted to drag him back in – he headed instead to his dresser, selecting a comfy pair of jeans, a plain white tee and his favorite teal flannel (he found that the color really brought out his eyes). The only thing Spot had told him was that they would be outside. The weather had been unseasonably warm for this late in October, but there was still a chilly bite to the breeze. Spot was a vision in his jeans and form-fitting black sweater, the v-neck offering a teasing glimpse of the lines of his chest. The combination of the sweater, his wet hair and the sexy scruff Spot had taken to in the last week or so had Race entranced. He couldn’t help himself; sometimes, he still couldn’t quite believe his luck that Spot was _his._ Only Spot’s voice snapped him out of it.

“Whatcha lookin’ at?”

“You,” Race answered truthfully, mouth quirking up when he noticed the rare flush on Spot’s cheekbones. “Happy birthday to _me_.”

Spot laughed at that, crossing the room to pull Race close. “I dunno,” Spot snaked an arm around his waist, raising an eyebrow. “The way I woke up this morning, I kinda thought it was _my_ birthday.” Now it was Race’s turn to flush – as always – and he leaned forward to kiss him as a distraction. And distracting, it was; a few moments later Spot pulled back, moving his hands to Race’s shoulders so he could hold him at arm’s length. “C’mon, we gotta get going.”

Race let out a small squeak of excitement that made Spot pause, looking like he wanted to say something else. But he didn’t, and they headed out to grab breakfast burritos from Medda’s. Then, they took a cab to Spot’s mom’s house so they could borrow her car. As they stepped onto the sidewalk, Spot threaded his fingers through Race’s and spoke.

“Now, listen,”

Race turned his head curiously; Spot sounded a little too serious for the occasion. He waited.

“We have about an hour’s drive ahead of us, so we can’t stay too long.”

“You mean-“

“I mean you get ten minutes of play time with Bernie, no more.”

“But-“

“No more.” Spot’s tone had a note of finality as he fitted his key into the lock and they slipped inside. Race wasn’t sure if Maria was up yet, but just in case she wasn’t, he did his best to stay quiet. Bernie, Maria’s high-energy corgi, came barreling down the hall, jumping at Race the minute he spotted him. Race dropped to the floor, overcome with delight. This was already his best birthday in recent memory. He noticed Spot hadn’t moved, and he was watching him with an expression of amusement mixed with something else.

“What?” He asked, curiously, as Bernie licked his ear, making him giggle. Spot shook his head, smiling softly.

“Nothin’. I’ll be right back.”

Eleven minutes later – Race was starting to figure out Spot could almost never tell him no – they backed onto the street in Maria’s newish Toyota Camry, heading to the highway. Race sneaked a glance into the backseat, pursing his lips when he saw nothing he could use as a clue. He turned back around, eyes snagging on the aux cord hanging out of the stereo. He snatched it up, plugged his phone in, and had the song pulled up before Spot could even react.

“Oh, please, play something el-“

“It’s my birthday.” Race said flatly, no remorse to be found as he hit play. Spot’s eyes rolled skyward before he focused back on the road, but Race knew he wasn’t as annoyed as he tried to look. Taylor Swift’s _22_ started blaring from the speakers and Race danced in his seat, as best he could with the restriction of the seatbelt, singing along obnoxiously. In his defense, there was really only one day he could justifiably play this song so many times, and this was it.

He played it twice more before taking pity on Spot and putting on a more lowkey playlist, the rolling beats and smooth tones complementing the serene sights flying past the window as they headed out of the city. Race rested a hand on Spot’s thigh as they drove, only interrupting the comfortable quiet to point out horses and cows whenever he spotted them. It was late morning by the time Spot pulled off the highway, heading down a few long, straight roads before finally turning off at a sign that read-

“Breezy Acres Farms and Orchard?” Race read out loud, turning in his seat as Spot maneuvered the car into the grassy parking lot. “Are we going apple picking?!”

Spot only smiled in response as he turned off the car and got out, heading to the trunk. _The trunk!_ Race smacked his forehead; of course that’s where Spot would have hidden any telltale supplies. He unbuckled quickly and hopped out of the car in time to see Spot sling the strap of a soft, insulated cooler over his shoulder and drape a cozy plaid blanket over his arm. Race could hardly contain himself; his voice came out higher than usual.

“Are we having a picnic?”

“C’mon, birthday boy,” Spot extended his free hand, giving Race’s a gentle squeeze when he grabbed hold, and led them toward the entrance.

Race hardly felt the ground beneath his feet as they walked, drinking in the gorgeous late October views. The trees were a stunning mix of red, orange, and yellow and the faintly sweet scent of dead leaves was a welcome change from the smog and exhaust of the city – even if it was mixed with the sharp aromas of farm life. The farm had a few small barns selling knick-knacks like homemade soaps, jams, and cute Halloween décor. They took their time wandering through each one, checking out the wares before they started toward the pumpkin patch. Spot had to grab the back of Race’s flannel as he instinctively moved toward the play area _clearly_ meant for kids, and steered him instead to the goat pen that was, at least, open to adults, too. He stuck a quarter in a machine, turning the knob so a pile of dry food fell into his palm, which he handed to Race.

Race dropped to his knees, stars in his eyes as he reached through the fence and watched the goats eat lazily from his hand. He glanced over his shoulder at Spot, heart warming when he realized he was just watching him. He had to grit his teeth to keep from spilling his secret, the one he’d been holding onto for a couple of months, now. But really, who could blame him? Race couldn’t remember the last time he’d gone to a pumpkin patch without at least one kid in tow. He almost _felt_ like a kid again as he gently stroked the closest goat, marveling in the silkiness of its hair.

“Hey,” Spot’s voice was soft. Race stood, taking advantage of the hand sanitizer pump nearby before sidling up to Spot. He was practically buzzing as he nuzzled into the crook of Spot’s neck, arms locking around his waist.

“Hmm?”

Spot jerked his head toward the pumpkin patch. “Let’s go get some pumpkins.”

Spot loaded their cooler and blanket into a wagon as they entered the pumpkin patch, pulling it behind him as Race flitted between the rows, searching for the perfect specimens. It was midday, the sun was high and bright but they remained comfortable thanks to the cool, intermittent breeze. After loading their giant pumpkins into the wagon, Spot steered them in the direction of the apple orchard, still pulling the wagon.

They strolled through the orchard hand in hand, chatting idly as time stretched out the way it does when you’re exactly where you want to be. Their wagon filled with apples as they went, Race occasionally darting off to climb a tree to get _just the right one_. Once, he took off running, startling Spot for a second before he leapt at a branch and swung deftly around it. He hung upside down from his knees, grinning as his shirt rode up. Spot smirked back, running his fingers lightly across Race’s stomach and making him squirm.

“Hey, stop! I’m gonna fall and get another concussion,” He warned, the twinkle in his eyes betraying him. Spot snorted, ignoring him and leaning forward to press a kiss to the middle of Race’s abs, sending a shiver through him that _actually_ made him nearly lose his grip. Spot stepped back, shaking his head.

“Get down before you end up with another scar.”

“Well, at least I have a handsome nurse nearby to take care of me,” Race quipped, winking before he pulled himself up and flipped off the branch, landing gracefully. He grabbed Spot’s arm and pulled him in for an impulsive kiss, lacing their hands together and heading off again, scanning the trees for his next target.

As they walked, he babbled about all of the things he would make with the apples; pie, of course, but also muffins and maybe even apple fritters – Jack would just have to deal with the apartment smelling like oil for a day or two. When a sharp pang of hunger interrupted his musings, he checked his watch; it was well past lunchtime. His heart lurched a little as he realized the day was passing and he wanted to stop time, stay in this perfect bubble for a while longer. Spot tugged on his hand and Race looked over at him.

“Let’s eat.”

Race nodded, glancing around for a place to lay down the blanket. They were well out into the orchard, now, no other guests in sight as Race found the perfect tree. He spread the blanket out meticulously when they reached it, half in the shade and half in the sun; the day was hovering now on the verge of warm, and he didn’t want Spot to get uncomfortable in his sweater. _God, that sweater._ He flopped down as Spot began to unpack their lunch of his favorite tofu wraps from Medda’s – he spared a moment to wonder when the hell he’d had a chance to set this all up and ultimately chalked it up to magic. They ate quickly, finishing with a couple of the freshly picked apples and washing it down with flavored seltzer that was somehow still cold, the bubbles refreshing. Race laid down again, this time resting his head in Spot’s lap as they let their food digest. He looked up into the cloudless sky, a contented smile spreading across his face as Spot ran his fingers lazily through his curls. He needed a haircut, but he knew Spot sort of liked it a little longer, so he could put it off for a while. He didn’t even realize his eyes had fluttered closed until Spot spoke, breaking the comfortable silence.

“Are you having fun?”

“Pfft,” Race responded, opening his eyes as he huffed out a breath that ruffled the hair resting on his forehead. “Are you kidding? This is the best birthday I’ve had in years.” He didn’t miss the pleased flush that spread across Spot’s cheekbones at that. Suddenly, the wind came tearing through the orchard, lifting dried leaves in a whirling cyclone before it settled a moment later. Race sat up, sputtering as he spit out pieces of leaves, only to freeze when his eyes landed on his boyfriend.

Spot was sitting next to him, clearly annoyed as he looked down at the debris clinging to his soft sweater and gathering in his lap. He brushed himself off but he was oblivious to the leaves that caught in his hair, their vibrant red contrasting brilliantly against the dark, silky strands; his skin was golden in the autumn sun. Race sucked in a breath and held it, biting his lip to keep his mouth shut. There was something so stunning about the image: Spot, his Spot, always so steady and sure, so calculated in his next move, taken off guard by an unexpected breeze and falling leaves.

“I love you.”

Race didn’t even realize he’d said it out loud until Spot’s head snapped up, eyes wide as they met his. The air rushed out of his lungs and he suddenly felt like he was in a vacuum.

“What?” Spot’s response was soft and a little reverent. Race opened his mouth, finally drawing a shaky breath. He’d already said it, it was out there – no sense in taking it back, now. He swallowed hard, suddenly wishing for another swig of seltzer.

“I said, I love you, Spot.” Race’s own voice was soft, now, and he had an urge to shed his flannel as he suddenly felt very warm. He dropped his eyes to his hands, which had settled in his lap, fingers twisting together. The silence stretched on, long enough that his stomach flipped. He forced himself to look back up at Spot, who was still looking at him with that stunned expression. “I’m sorry if it’s too soon,” He added quickly, a little defensively. “I know it’s only been like, four months, but-“

“God, Tony,” Spot finally managed, running a hand over his face and smiling. _Smiling._ Race’s heart leapt into his throat when that smile turned into a chuckle, then into an outright laugh. He was thoroughly confused. Spot’s initial surprise seemed to have morphed into amusement, colored with a touch of seriousness, as evidenced by the use of his name, and Race’s head was spinning as he tried to decipher it. Finally, Spot stopped laughing and looked up at Race. “You’re an idiot.”

Well, _that_ wasn’t what he was expecting. Frowning, he started to protest but Spot cut him off with a kiss, one hand snaking into Race’s hair at the back and gripping tightly. A pleased, surprise noise escaped Race as he responded; he tried to catch his breath when Spot pulled back just enough to focus on him again. “Racer, what do you think all of this-“ he gestured with his free arm at the orchard around them, “is about?”

“What-“

Spot huffed, cutting him off as he rolled his eyes dramatically. “You really don’t know?” Race shook his head, slowly. He was pretty sure he was beginning to catch on but he wanted Spot to say it; needed to hear him say it. Spot brushed his knuckles along Race’s cheekbone and traced the line of his jaw before dropping his hand into Race’s lap. “I brought you here because I wanted to tell _you_ that I love you.” A pause. “And, naturally, you beat me to it.”

Race couldn’t help it; laughter bubbled up through his chest until he couldn’t contain it and he fell forward against Spot, dropping his forehead on his shoulder as he clung to him. The giggles got worse before they got better, especially when he felt Spot’s chuckle rumble through his chest. Eventually, he started to breathe again and Spot pulled him into his lap, arms tight around him. Race wiped at his eyes as he lifted his head, nudging Spot’s chin toward him.

“You mean it?” He asked, unable to keep the uncertain note from his voice. Spot smiled softly, eyes twinkling in the afternoon sun. Spot leaned in to kiss him, sending a warm rush through Race’s chest as he did.

“I do.” He murmured against his lips before leaning in again, this kiss catching fire as he laid Race down on the blanket. Their hands roamed as they kissed, so caught up in each other that they didn’t notice the sun starting to drop in the sky. They only came back to earth when an employee drove by in a golf cart, letting them know the farm was closing soon and they’d need to head to the main building with their purchases. Spot was thoroughly embarrassed but Race just laughed as they collected their belongings and began the trek back toward the parking lot.

Later, they curled up together on Race’s couch, the only light in the room coming from the flickering candles in their freshly carved pumpkins, beautifully staged on the coffee table. They flipped through Netflix, looking for a good Halloween movie. Race settled in, bringing one of Spot’s hands to his lips and pressing a soft kiss to his palm. Spot hummed happily. Race turned his head so he could look over his shoulder at Spot, just behind him.

“Hey, guess what?”

Spot raised an eyebrow in response, pausing the movie; he knew by now not to hit play until Race was quiet. Race grinned.

“I love you.” He said it again, just because he could. After holding it in for months, it just felt _so good_ to say it, and to know that the response would be-

“I love you too,” Spot spoke directly into his ear, sending a delicious shiver down his spine as he absorbed the words. He was sure he’d never get tired of hearing that. He brought Spot’s hand to his lips again and whispered against his skin.

“Best birthday ever.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked it! Also, if you're into the E-rated stuff, I'm working on a one shot that's set the evening of chapter one, a follow-up to their text exchange. Should be up later this week. Thanks for reading!


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